


049 - When You're Going Through Hell...

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “van lookin after you and supporting you after you find out your best friend has a tumour or somethin ????”





	049 - When You're Going Through Hell...

You were at the movies with Van when Sophia got the news. There were three missed calls on your phone, but you hadn't bothered to check it until you were halfway home. No voicemails, so you called her. Her voice was shaking and she was too calm.

"I just… I need you to come over right now. Please, Y/N."

When you hung up and told Van he needed to turn the car around, he didn't ask what had happened. Like you, he knew it was something bad. She wouldn't tell you over the phone. You started to rock in the car seat and hold back tears, but it was too much. You cried and Van left his hand on your knee. When you calmed down you threaded your fingers through his.

After you knocked on Sophia's door, you turned to Van. His hand must have been hurting from how hard you were squeezing.

"Please don't go," you whispered to him. His eyebrows knitted together.

"I won't. I'm here," and he stood closer.

As soon as Sophia opened the door you burst into tears again. She was still placid, and it was making it worse. You sat on the couch next to her, and she curled up into your lap without saying anything. Van stayed standing and leant against the wall. Sophia's parents sat on the couch opposite you. They explained where the tumour was, and what that meant. It meant pain and suffering, and you were angry more than anything. She deserved better than what she was given, and you wanted to save her. You wanted to pick her up and take her home and put her in bed and for everything to be okay. You looked over at Van. The look on his face told you that nothing would be the same, but that he wouldn't leave you alone in the change.

…

Hours later, when Sophia told you that you were allowed to leave, that you didn't have to spend every waking moment with her, Van drove you home. When you stood motionless in the entryway, he took your hand and lead you to the couch. You sat and let him take your shoes off.

"Baby?" he asked. You looked up at him. "You haven't eaten anything in a while. I'll make you something,"

"Not hungry,"

"I know, but you have to eat."

It was probably that he didn't know how else to be useful. He was looking for proactive things to do, which was usual human behaviour when things went wrong. He wasn't gone for long. He put a cheese toasty and a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of you. The tea you could do. You picked it up and let the heat of the mug softly and slowly burn the palms of your hands. Van sat next to you and turned the television on, looking for something safe to watch. After searching for minutes, he made a small gasping sound to himself. It was his 'I've got an idea' sound. He got up and put a DVD in. The Breakfast Club started to play on the screen and some of the hurt in your heart was eased; he remembered your go-to feel better film.

You fell asleep around the time Allison was crushing chips onto her bread. You were exhausted and your body couldn't fight the darkness of sleep. When you woke up the movie was over, and Van was watching the news. You were curled up into his side with his arm around you. You started to cry, guilty from sleeping when you could be doing something. Maybe you could find some new treatment for Sophia that nobody had thought of yet? Should you be making her those cookies you'd been promising forever?

Van didn't ask why you were crying, he just pulled you into his lap and wrapped a blanket tight around you. You cried into his chest and he ran his hands up and down your back the whole time. When your sobs subsided he tilted your head gently to see your face. He studied you carefully.

"Bed," he said quietly. You stood and waited for him to help. He stood behind you with his hands on your hips. He pushed you forward, being the force you needed to get from place to place. You collapsed onto the bed. Van pulled you to the edge and undid the button and zip on your jeans. "Can you do this?" he asked. You nodded and slowly moved to get out of them. You sat up and he helped you out of your shirt. He unclipped your bra and handed you a pyjama shirt. You pulled it on and climbed into bed. "I'll be back in a minute, okay?"

You could hear him on the phone. You didn't know if it was his dad, or Larry. You decided it was probably Larry, because he was Van's Sophia. He probably wanted to just hear Larry's sleepy voice ask why he was calling so late, and if everything was alright. Van would tell Larry that he loved him and Larry would say it back. You started to cry again.

Van returned and mopped up your face with his sleeve. You cuddled up into him.

"There's nothing I can do, is there?" you whispered. He made a sound as if your words had physically hurt him.

"You can be there for her. That's not nothing. It's everything,"

"It's not enough,"

"It is to her."

You didn’t believe what he was saying, but you believed him. His words let you sleep, and in sleep you could not worry.

…

There was a beautiful moment when you woke up where you forgot about the bad. You rolled onto your side and watched the dust and sparkly bits float through the one beam of sunlight seeping in where the curtains didn't quite meet. It took fifteen seconds for the moment to pass and the reality sit heavy on your shoulders and in your heart again.

Van was already awake, and he'd been watching you in the sunlight. He was waiting for you to react to the world, and when you did he was back wrapped around you. When you stopped crying he went to make tea. He brought a cup to you with some pain killers.

"Did you want to go see her?" he asked.

"She said she would be at the hospital all day. Maybe tonight?"

"Okay. Maybe we can bring her some of that cake stuff she likes from the bakery?"

He was a Goddamn angel. You nodded.

Van let you stay in bed for most of the day. He kept coming back in to check on you. You were mostly just spacing out hard, but it was better than being aware of your surroundings. At two in the afternoon he suggested you could have a shower or bath. You shrugged. He suggested it again at three but when you said you couldn't move, he said he'd help.

He moved the blanket away from you and pulled you to the edge of the bed. You tried to help get out of your clothes, but your limbs felt foreign to you, like you couldn't purposefully do anything. He carried you to the bath and filled it with warm water. You watched it rise around you. Van washed your hair using a small glass jar from the kitchen to rinse shampoo out. He sat next to the bath and rested his arms on the side, and his head on his arms. It reminded you of the photo from The Ride's album booklet. For a second you forgot you were meant to be sad and guilty.

Once dried you got dressed and followed Van out of the house. You stayed in the car as he went into the bakery. As you watched him through the windows you took stock of the situation. There were so many unknowns. You didn't know exactly how bad it was going to get for Sophia. You didn't know how you could help. You didn't know how you would feel that night, the day after, or the next. You didn't know how you were going to be able to coexist with the feelings of guilt (not to mention the guilt about feeling guilty). The constant though, the consistent and the always there, was Van.

You had incredible faith in him. He would keep making you tea and watch The Breakfast Club three times a day if you needed. He would become an expert in undressing you efficiently, and know how to wash your hair without getting soap in your eyes. His hands would never stop fighting the hurt kept in your body, and they'd never not be there to hold. The world was a fucking brutal place, and it seemed like it was dead set on making sure you understood that, but at the very least there was Van, and maybe it would be alright.


End file.
